Ice
by TheLateNightStoryteller
Summary: A oneshot set several months after the season 1 finale. Fitz is still suffering the effects of almost drowning while the team stops for a short break to go skating (each member having varying experience on ice). He wants Simmons to join them and is frustrated when she insists on staying with him on the bench instead.


"Why don't you go skating?" Fitz suggested, hoping he sounded encouraging, as he and Simmons sat on the bench next to the large, outdoor rink. The ice was beautiful, smooth and shining white under the street lamps, reflecting hazy orange balls beneath them.

The rest of the team were enjoying themselves. Coulson was lazily meandering around the rink while May and Triplett raced in circles past him, lapping him once, then twice, as they pushed each other, Triplett egging May on teasingly.

Skye wasn't nearly as skilled, wobbling around on her skates and falling on her butt a few times before Coulson glided over, skidding to a sideways stop (something Fitz had never been able to do even before he'd become hopelessly un-coordinated) splashing snow from the sides of his blades, and allowed her to take his hand so they could meander together and she'd have someone to steady her when she slipped.

Simmons adjusted the blanket she'd draped like a cape around Fitz's shoulders when they'd sat down. "Eat your soup," she instructed, acting as if she hadn't heard him.

"You can go," he insisted irritably. "I don't need someone watching me eat chicken noodle."

He didn't really want her to leave, he felt safer with her beside him, less vulnerable than he'd really become and, despite his grumblings, he cherished her company. However he also valued her happiness and chaining her to him with his infuriating neediness was not going to bring her joy, especially when he was such a black hole of anger and frustration.

She glanced longingly at their team but shook her head, plastering on a smile about as fake as a basket of toy food. "I'm fine here," she lied.

"You don't need to babysit me," he grumbled, familiar annoyance prickling up his spine like rising quills. "You don't owe me anything, you're free, go... be a bird."

He cursed himself. A bird? She did chirp a lot, and wake him up in the morning and, though she wasn't covered in brightly coloured feathers, she was beautiful.

"I don't really want to," she told him unconvincingly, her eyes drawn once again to their team as Triplett circled backwards around Skye before speeding off and she giggled, releasing Coulson's hand and trying to keep up with him but, once again, falling onto her hands and knees.

"Yes you do," he countered impatiently. He was sick of everyone acting as if he needed to be constantly watched. Maybe he couldn't walk without stumbling every twenty steps, or hold things properly, or remember the words for everything, but he was perfectly capable of sitting on his behind and drinking soup from a cup without a supervisor. "It's bad enough I'm stuck on the bench, don't bench yourself too."

"Fitz," she sighed, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Simmons," he retorted, unwilling to concede and jerking away from her.

The cup slipped out of his grip and shattered onto the ice, spilling yellow soup and long noodles across the white and scattering tiny, broken fragments.

"Damn it!" he swore, struggling to stand so he could clean it up but Simmons pushed him down lightly.

"It's alright, I've got it," she assured him, picking up the larger pieces and depositing them in her hand before walking over to the trash bin and dumping them inside. Fitz sat, watching uselessly, as she made several trips back and forth. "There, it's all cleaned up," she chirped, settling back down next to him and ignoring the yellow, stringy mess she could do nothing about. "I'll get you another soup," she said, tilting her head towards the small, square stand where the team had rented their skates and which also sold soup, hot chocolate and candy bars.

Her cheerfulness was as forced as her smile and, not for the first time, it crossed his mind that she'd be better off without him. He felt like a vortex of pain and despair which she'd somehow been caught up in, becoming a bright light swirling and suffocating in darkness.

"You should have left me... on the boat... I mean the Bus," he muttered, looking away. He'd been about to say something else, to tell her she should have left him at the bottom of the ocean, but he'd promised himself he'd never do that to her again.

The cruel, honest statement had slipped out only once before, four months ago, during an argument, a dumb one at that, over Jello.

/-/-/

Fitz was lying in a hospital bed, trapped there by his inability to properly communicate with his own body, beside Simmons who probably had better things to do but had brought him Jello instead.

"I'm not hungry," he told her stubbornly, turning away from the spoon hovering in front of his mouth. He was, his stomach was empty and grumbling, but he hated being fed like an infant and he wasn't sure if the fact that Simmons was the one holding the spoon was helping ease his humiliation or making it worse.

"I'll get you something else," she decided determinedly, placing the spoon back into the bowl and setting it on the table. "What would you like? I could make toast, or get you some cheerios, you could probably eat those on your own."

"I'm not hungry," he repeated, refusing to look at her. He was angry but this wasn't her fault and he didn't want her to see how unhappy he was.

"You need to eat," she pressed patiently. "You're malnourished, you need to put on weight."

Did she need to remind him how awful he must look?

"I'm. Not. Hungry," he said tersely as his traitorous stomach let out a growl.

"Fitz-" she pleaded.

"Why don't you eat the stupid Jello," he snapped, losing his temper, however unfair it was for him to take out his frustration on Simmons who was only trying to help. All she ever did was try to help and it was driving him crazy, the same way his bloody, shaking hands and his damn uncooperative feet were making him want to punch a wall (not that he could, that would require him to make a fist first).

"I'm just trying to-" she began rigidly, eyes darkening.

"Help," he finished bitterly. "I know, it's all you ever do. You know what would have been a big help Simmons? If you had just done what I asked you to do and left me in the med pod."

She recoiled, leaning away from him and looking as if he'd slapped her in the face. Her eyes brightened and her breathing became shaky as she stared forward, pale and frozen like ice. She opened her mouth to say something but shut it quickly and a single tear slid down her cheek before she rose and, without speaking, and left him alone in the tiny room.

An hour later she brought him toast and cheerios and he ate as much as he could in silence, examining her pale face and red eyes circled with grey, feeling horrible.

Fitz hadn't known what to say to her then, his throat had closed tightly from guilt and misery, making it hurt to swallow, but he ate until he was full then reached out awkwardly towards her.

She took his hand and he tried, once again, to say that he was sorry, but he couldn't because if he did he would be forced to remember the look on her face right before she left, that he'd done that to her. So instead he rubbed her palm with his thumb, twitching it over her skin, and tried to smile. She smiled back, light shining behind her watery eyes, the same way the sun had shone down through the ocean when they'd been trapped, together, in the med pod.

Simmons knew he was sorry, knew he wasn't really blaming her, but he did wish he had said something.

/-/-/

"Left you on the Bus" Simmons chuckled nervously, as if he'd been joking. "Silly Fitz, then who would sit with me?"

That did it, he'd had enough with her pretending she wanted to sit on a bench, watching her life go by. This was the most fun he'd seen any of his friends have in weeks, a wonderful break from the stress of running and hiding and fearing for their lives, and Simmons wasn't missing out on it.

Shaking off the blanket, he took the stupid cane he used to walk and hauled himself to his feet, shuffling slowly towards the booth along the narrow path of flat snow between the rink and the bank, trying not to think about how much like an old man he must look.

"What are you doing?" She called, following behind him, he was sure, so she'd be ready to catch him if he fell. "I can get the soup... but if you want to work your muscles... that's great," she encouraged.

'You're the one who's going to be working your muscles,' he thought as she hovered behind him like an upset bumble bee.

He leaned on the wooden frame of the stall's window while he fumbled with his wallet and shakily placed a twenty on the counter. Simmons raised an eyebrow at him, he had two fives and the soup was only three dollars.

"I'll take a pair of skates please," he requested firmly.

The man in the booth, whose name tag read Sam Weiss, seemed confused, eyes drifting to the cane, but didn't comment when Fitz gave him a size to retrieve.

"I'm not-" Simmons began.

"You're going to or I will," he interrupted, leaving no room for argument. "I'm not paying fifteen dollars to stare at them."

She frowned at his tone but said nothing.

He took the skates from Sam, received his changed and shoved them towards Simmons. "Go," he said, softening, hoping she could see in his expression how much he wanted her to do it. "For me."

She sighed and placed them carefully next to her before winding around him to talk to the cashier.

"One chicken noodle soup please," she ordered politely.

He smiled at her. "Coming right up Ma'am."

While they waited, Fitz leaning on the stand, she sat down in the snow and, to his satisfaction, laced up.

"Eat the soup," she instructed, nodding her head towards the window where it had been placed, steaming grey wisps into the cold air. "I'll go skating if you'll eat it."

"Deal," he agreed. It smelled good anyway, much better than Jello. He hated Jello, stupid Jello, all wiggly and overly-sweet.

She carried it to bench for him, skating beside him smoothly. Simmons was good at skating, she'd taken lessons as a child, even knew how to spin, sort of, and she seemed happy with the feel of her feet gliding over the ice, her features light and relaxed. Fitz couldn't help the smug smile that crept across his face.

She rolled her eyes at him. "You always did need to win," she teased, handing him the soup once he'd half sat, half fallen back down.

"I'm not the only one," he teased back quietly and was rewarded with a warm, hot chocolate with marshmallows smile. "Do me a favour and out-skate Triplett OK? He's too good at everything, it's going to draw attention to us. Or maybe help Skye out a little," he suggested as their friend wiped out once again. "The way she's skating is making me look like a balloon... er... acrobat," they both disregarded his fumble, "it's embarrassing."

"I heard that," Skye called, laughing as she pulled her arm out of a snowbank and shook off the sparkling white powder.

"It's true!" he shouted back.

She stuck her tongue out at him and he smiled again. It seemed the brief break from running for their lives was having a positive effect on him as well, which surprised him because barely anything had made him smile lately, much less made him happy, the way he was in that moment.

Simmons grinned and quickly kissed his cheek before skating off. He touched the place her lips had been, warmed from the inside out before he'd even opened the Styrofoam container (they'd only brought one mug), wondering if maybe it was Christmas and no one had told him. Why else would he be so inexplicably merry?

He sipped his soup as Simmons flew over the rink, reminding him of a gliding swallow, graceful and free, and why he didn't regret giving her their final breath, why he never would.

As his friends danced before him, he thought maybe it was seeing the people he loved having fun which had filled him up with holiday cheer.

An uncomfortable ball of envy formed in his throat when Triplett invited Simmons to skate with him and they sped towards each other, linking arms as they passed and laughing as they spun in circles, gripping onto the other's arm for balance.

He pushed it down and returned to his soup, concentrating on not spilling it this time. Simmons was enjoying herself and her laughter hit him like a breeze on a summer's day, he wasn't about to let his residual jealousy sour that.

"In coming," Skye giggled, crashing into the snow bank beside him.

"I give it a two," he kidded, holding up two fingers, one on each hand because that was easier.

"I think that deserved at least a three," Skye protested playfully, standing and brushing the snow off her jeans.

"At least you didn't fall on your face again," he smiled mischievously.

She chucked a handful of snow his way but it landed, he suspected on purpose, about a foot in front of him, before she clomped inelegantly over to him, walking with the heavy metal blades.

"This is only my second time doing this you know," she informed him good naturedly, sitting beside him. "Mmm, that smells good," she commented, eying his soup, "maybe I'll get some once my feet stop throbbing. Oh or hot chocolate, I'll get you one too," she told him.

"Thanks," he accepted, finished with arguing. They could feed him until he was as round as Thanksgiving turkey if they wanted to so long as they did it smiling.

Together they watched their friends. Triplett and Simmons had began a friendly competition, each trying to out do the other with their tricks.

Simmons fell on a spin, becoming competitive and attempting to do a double, which Fitz knew she'd never done before, and Triplett helped her up, the pair giggling together, amused.

"Done with your soup?" Skye asked, craning her neck to look into his cup.

"Yeah," he answered, still watching Simmons, beaming at her, unseen, as she sped across the rink to spin around with Triplett again, crying out in delight when they almost fell over, and feeling as if his dark world had been lit with fairy lights.

"As fun as it is goggling at people," Skye laughed, nudging him to get his attention. "Don't you think we should join them?"

"I can't-" he began.

"Simmons has you living in bubble-wrap," she scoffed, standing up. "Falling isn't going to kill you... it isn't right?" she checked, suddenly concerned. "You're not-"

"I can bruise, just like you, I'm not a hemophiliac," he muttered. What in the world did she think was going to happen? The rest of his functions would be knocked off like leaves in autumn?

"Right..." she agreed, obviously off put by his change in attitude, but her grin quickly returned. "OK then grumpy, did you want to come or not? Maybe we can catch up with Simmons," she wiggled her eyebrows, inviting him with outstretched hands.

"I'm not..." but he really couldn't deny her accusation so he didn't try. He was grumpy, with a capital G.

He took her hands and left the cane leaning on the bench, using his friend for support instead as she attempted haphazardly to skate backwards.

"What are you doing?" Simmons fretted, attempting, unsuccessfully, not to appear alarmed.

"Skating," Skye answered breezily.

Fitz was focusing too intently on not falling to reply.

"Oh," she nodded, squeaking a little. "Well then..."

This was a bad idea, she'd stopped skating to watch him wearily, hands together and squeezing the tip of her thumb anxiously.

Skye wasn't a very good support, as supportive as she was in other aspects of his life, her balance on skates was simply too poor to allow her to hold him up, and the two of them tipped over, crashing onto the ice.

"Fitz!" Simmons cried out, forgetting to feign nonchalance and gliding swiftly over to them.

"Fall number forty three," Skye kidded, unconcerned and smirking at Fitz who had started laughing too hard to sit up.

"Oh yes, it was so funny giving me a heart attack," Simmons grinned, kneeling next to him. He giggled at her and she narrowed her eyes fondly as she continued. "It's bad enough that Skye wants to be a human crash test dummy, did you really need to sign up with her?"

"We needed one more, Jimmy quit last week," Skye chuckled.

Fitz laughed again, he couldn't stop and it was amazing. Falling had been so... normal. Wiping out with Skye had somehow made him feel like his old self again (not that he'd been a total clutz, it had just been part of ordinary life, a life he missed). The laughter that spasmed through him loosened the tightness in his chest, and shook away the darkness which was dissipated further by the sunbeam smile Simmons was shining down on him.

"Is he OK?" Skye asked, raising an eyebrow, only half joking.

"He's fine," Simmons giggled and he managed a loose thumbs up. "We're OK," she murmured meeting his gaze, eyes watering and filled with soft joy and relief. She wiped them, sniffing. "This wind," she mumbled. "It makes everything runny."

"Eww," Skye commented, smiling as she shook her head. "Simmons."

"There's no shame in it," she told her defensively. "It's a perfectly natural reaction to... cold..."

"Sure," Skye replied, seeing through her and getting to her feet. "Wanna try again?" she offered.

"I can...," Simmons began, glancing between them, unsure. "I can take over... if you don't mind."

"If you think you can skate backwards better than this," Skye bragged playfully, colliding with Triplett who caught her before she met the ice again.

"Let's hope," he chuckled and she hit his arm, grinning, before squirming away.

Simmons helped up a still giddy, giggling Fitz and held out her arms so he could grip onto them and hold himself steady while they moved.

Their team had stopped to watch and even the man in the stand, Mr. Weiss, peered out curiously.

Fitz noticed none of it, his attention was completely on Simmons. He took in the feel of her arms beneath the cold fabric of her coat and the lightly sweet scent of her hair as she slowly pulled him forward, sliding his boots on the smooth ice. She seemed content, the corners of her mouth lifting slightly while her sparkling eyes stared back at him, but he wanted to be sure she knew she didn't need to do this.

"If you'd rather skate on your own," he said quietly, "I won't be offended, I don't want to hold you back."

"Is that really what you think you're doing?" She murmured, the light fading from her face for a moment before she shook her head at him, tilting it slightly and raising her eyebrows as if what he'd said was ridiculous. "I like this," she told him. "It's nice."

"Yeah?" he smiled shyly, warm light spreading across his chest.

"Yeah," she answered, amused. "There's a reason you're my best friend."

"It isn't because no one else applied for the position?" He teased, laughing as she scrunched her nose at him.

"You should know, I had a stack of resumes taller than I am," she kidded, laughing with him.

They skated for what felt like a long time that went by too quickly, Simmons inching backwards, pulling Fitz along with her, probably looking silly but not really noticing or caring in the least.

Fitz stumbled but Simmons was solid and she didn't let him fall, allowing him to lean on her until he regained his balance. "I've got you," she assured him.

"I know," he replied. "You always do... you always take care of me... thank you." Their eyes met and he could tell she was touched by his words.

"That's because you've always got me," she told him softly.

He wasn't sure what was going to happen him, to any of them, but in that moment Fitz was happy. He wished he could tell her, properly, how much everything she did meant to him, but couldn't find the words.

Fitz didn't know it, but Simmons was having a similar struggle, searching for a way to thank him for what he'd done for her, what he'd sacrificed. She didn't know how though, she couldn't find the words either. Neither of them knew that they didn't need any, that what the other one did was done out of love, because they both wanted each other to be happy and safe and that that was all the thanks they needed.

Hearing Fitz laughing again had been all the thanks Simmons needed and watching her skate had been had been enough for Fitz.

"I think we're going to be OK," Fitz said, surprising himself with his certainty. "I know things are hard now but-"

"At least we've still got each other," Simmons finished and he smiled because that had been exactly what he was going to say.

/-/-/

* * *

><p>The Fringe reference in this story is Sam Weiss, he is the one who helps Olivia after her accident and he is also linked to the First People, part of the show's mythology.<p>

The whole skating towards each other and then linking arms so you spin is something me and my cousin used to do, I do not guarantee it is safe haha.

I added an image of a drawing I did (because it seems like the site wants you to only put your own images and I was scared to click yes for something that wasn't mine) and in the picture both people have skates even though here only Simmons does. It was an older drawing and I thought it would fit. Feel free to tell me if it doesn't.


End file.
